


A Life of His Own Design

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Peter Hale sucks a lot of cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: Snobby architect Chris Argent joins the UCBH faculty and strikes up a rivalry with hedonistic filmmaker Peter Hale.Author’s Note: Revised work. Formerly posted as chaptered drabbles on my Tumblr and theserpentgirl’s Naughty and Nasty Tumblr AO3 page.





	A Life of His Own Design

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samanthahirr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthahirr/gifts).



 

[](https://imgur.com/ACuvE0G)

 

“The film was really… _revealing_ ,” the woman said, trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she stared at Peter.

He was used to the insinuations; knew that some people would look at his documentary and see him naked and vulnerable and want a piece of him. Many would only see the kinks and the sex. Only a handful of people would truly understand that ‘Alpha Bondage’ was about stripping down all defenses until you could see the core of a human being. Peter believed that there was no other moment of human truth than at the juncture of pain and pleasure; that millisecond before you came.

“It was a very long project to work on,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. He regretted it instantly as the strong notes of her sandalwood-based perfume hit him full force. “We’re taking it to Tribeca next; Robert DeNiro extended a personal invitation. I don’t expect that the film will win any of the major categories, though I’m really proud to say that we’ve been nominated in three—“

“So how would you describe your sexuality now, Peter? A bit less vanilla and more on the dark side of things? Did you enjoy pain and bondage before you started to explore it? I mean, how does that even work, in those bondage clubs?”

Peter sighed internally, pasting a fake polite smile on his lips. One would think that being in a roomful of academics that they, at least, would be the ones to intellectually understand what he was trying to do with his documentary; that it wasn’t about his sexuality or his kinks or his sex life for that matter, but just one human being’s journey through intense self-reflection and self-discovery.

“My sexuality was never at the center point of the film, Andrea,” he said, slowly. “In fact, sex had very little to do with ‘Alpha Bondage’ and more to do with the prurient practice of sexual stereotyping.”

She stared at him with obvious interest. “Basically, you’ve always been a little kinky. You know, I’ve always been interested in—“  

Peter bit back his growl of frustration, taking another sip of his red wine. “Excuse me, I think the Dean is trying to catch my attention.”

He walked away swiftly, heading across the room to the safety of the food table. He hated attending the faculty mixers; people always had such a warped perception of him and his work. His last year’s film “The Beacon” was on the topic of torture as a response to the wave of gory horror movies, distastefully nicknamed “torture porn,” where Peter delved into the human psychosis of doling out pain and cruelty and horror for pleasure, and the visceral human response in  **watching**  someone being tortured.

Peter found himself in the center of controversy, again, when campus gossip rippled through the quad that Peter had actually tortured and killed the young woman on film, that he had created the ultimate snuff film. It had gotten to the point where the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department investigated the rumors and Peter revealed that the young actress in question was one of his students, Lydia Martin, who had been on holiday in Europe during the film’s summer campus preview. Her “disappearance,” the rumors of her death, rumors of her social media being hacked with fake posts uploaded to her Facebook – all coincided neatly with the film’s showing, creating a real buzz for the film before Peter took it to the Telluride Film Festival.

He did love the visual medium as a form of communication, even though it often gave him a slightly skewed reputation amongst the faculty. His classes, however, were always full and the waitlist to get into his class was lengthy as well. There was even a bartering system amongst the students and staff, negotiating to get higher up on the registration and wait lists.

“—it’s pretty much just gay porn.”

“It’s quite an intellectual piece, once you get past the blatant sexual context,” Alan Deaton said, his voice low and steady.

Peter turned at the sound of the Dean’s voice, defending Peter’s work. He stared at the tall man whose back was turned to him, but Peter knew it was the new professor of architecture, Christopher Argent. The architect was something of a legend having won the Pritzer Prize three times in his lifetime; Peter had Googled the structures and found Argent’s work to be beautiful, practical, and a seamless fit into the environment. He admired the mission of Argent’s work; it was too soon to tell if Peter admired the man behind the vision.

But Argent also had a reputation for being brash, arrogant, and ruthless. From what Peter read of Argent’s interviews, he didn’t have much of a filter; and Peter wondered how his knowledge would translate into teaching students. Sometimes, an expert in the field often made the worst teachers, in Peter’s opinion.

“Come on, Alan, you can’t tell me that the Talia Hale School of Visual Design supports his work. I saw his last three movies – they’re great for shock value, but don’t tell me that they’re intellectual. Peter Hale is a total hack; he’s the Eli Roth of the Hale School.”

Peter grinned; he actually liked Eli Roth’s movies, so he wasn’t insulted. His films were brutal and gratuitous and playful at the same time – it spoke to something in Peter’s psyche.

“Chris, that’s not a fair estimation of Peter’s work. He’s not a conventional visual storyteller, but he’s fearless and his films are quite illuminating.”

“He’s a disgrace to the memory of his sister,” Argent said, shaking his head. “Talia Hale was a woman of class and integrity; she was the soul of Beacon Hills. We all felt the loss when she died. The Hales haven’t really recovered without her leadership.”

Peter felt his face flush in anger. He cleared his throat loudly and stepped towards them. “My sister  **was**  a woman of class and integrity, but she also believed in helping people find their unique creative voice and to pursue their own paths. She rarely made judgments on the context of the work; she always encouraged people to find that context from within. The reason why Talia’s name is on this department isn’t because the Hale family makes the biggest financial donations to the school, it’s because the School of Visual Design wanted to honor Talia’s ability to respect all creative endeavors, whether they’re worthy of the Pritzer Prize or exploratory gay porn.”

Dean Deaton smiled at Peter while Chris Argent simply stared at him, icy blue eyes meeting Peter’s in clear challenge and derision.

Not one to back down, Peter took a step forward until he was nearly toe to toe with Argent. “You don’t have to like my gay porn,  _Christopher_ , but I’d advise you to keep your opinions to yourself. The Beacon Hills faculty is a close knit family, a pack, and while we’re liberal and open-minded, we don’t like it when  _outsiders_ criticize one of our own.”

Argent sneered. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a friendly warning while you’re here in our territory,” Peter said, smiling politely at him. “I don’t expect that you’ll last more than a semester.” He gave a nod to Deaton. “Alan, it’s good to see you.”

Deaton gave an enigmatic smile and Peter turned away, making his way out of the faculty lounge. Peter was completely annoyed by Christopher Argent, that arrogant, entitled bastard. Never mind that he was attractive and sexy, that Peter would like to show him  **exactly**  what he learned during the filming of ‘Alpha Bondage’ – things that didn’t make into the film and had to be left on the cutting room floor because it was too  _obscene_.

He made a scornful noise, shaking his head as he walked out of the building, heading for the parking lot to his car. Aside from the weekly faculty meetings in the department, Peter wouldn’t have to see Argent at all. It wasn’t like Peter wanted to get to know him – he’d met enough arrogant, entitled bastards when he took his documentary to Sundance Film Festival – and the UCBH campus was large enough that Peter wouldn’t really need to see Argent at all.

 

*****

 

 

Christopher Argent was familiar with backrooms.  

His work took him to the major cities of the world and he never accepted work without meeting his client first – and a client meeting never guaranteed that Chris would be interested in the work or their money; wealthy clients who could afford his services fell over themselves to take him out to swanky clubs and restaurants with waitlists, set up after hour tours of museums, or exceptionally rare tours of privately held collections never seen by the public.

The jet set life was fascinating and rife with fun games, but Chris wasn’t easy to impress. He grew up in a world of privilege – boarding schools and trust funds and private tutors and unlimited access to expensive toys and the prestige of the Argent name. His father made sure that Chris was prepared for any situation from at a young age, to feel at ease in a board room…or make an arms deal with the Yakuza.

Chris never regretted giving up his position with Argent Arms International; his younger sister Kate stepped into the CEO role, her aggression and competitiveness finally focused on something that gave her direction and immense success, finally showing their father that she was the rightful heir to the Argent weapons business. Chris sometimes wondered what path Kate would’ve taken if she had to live under Chris’s shadow; just where would she have directed her ruthless cunning and cleverness?  

While Kate preferred the power and champagne and accolades, Chris preferred bars with peanut shells on the floor, a ten-buck game of darts with the locals, beers over wines, and back rooms over silk sheets.

The games and people were getting tedious; he was tired of entitled clients who thought buying his services meant buying him. So when the opportunity to teach at UCBH came up, Chris accepted it on the spot, told his staff to keep the business going for the duration of the academic year, and packed his bags and drove to the campus.

What he hadn’t considered was the  _small town-everyone knows your business-tightly knit community of academics_ world that he was stepping into; a world that was wholly new to him. In this world, he was the odd man out and Peter Hale’s threat rang all too true. Within days, the faculty and staff had already heard of the “confrontation” between Chris and Peter; how Chris had “offended and insulted” the filmmaker; how Peter had “stood up” to the pretentious outsider.

Chris rolled his eyes; he had enough social savvy to know that he had to nip this in the bud. He reached out to Peter Hale who gleefully rebuffed him at every turn with sharply polite words, but with a leer spread across his lips.

_“No, thank you, Mr. Argent, I would rather not meet you for coffee to discuss any of my film projects.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent, I would rather not have dinner with you tonight or any other night.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent, I really don’t feel that we have enough in common for random chit chat.”_

_“No, thank you, Mr. Argent.”_

_“No, Mr. Argent.”_

_“No.”_

That little shit.

That  _charming_  little shit with his  _pretty_  blue eyes and his  _clever, knowing_  smirk.

After a couple of months of this bullshit, Chris needed to blow off some steam. He drove two towns over to the dirtiest, nastiest club with a back room, determined to find a man who looked like Peter Hale, put him on his knees, and fuck that smirk off his lips.

Chris prowled through the dark back room, listening to the slick sounds and rough moans. He looked at faces, looked for  _someone_ who could take the edge off. His nerves hummed and his skin felt thin and tight. His cock was hard under his jeans, the smell of sex and come triggering his primal instincts. He was on the hunt, keen eyes looking for a certain set of shoulders, a pretty face, and a haughty attitude. Someone that he could knock down a peg or two without feeling guilty, without feeling obligation, without feeling anything except getting his cock sucked and getting off.

Further in the back corner, there was a small group of men standing around, hands in their pants. Chris couldn’t see what was going on, but he knew it had to be the cock slut on duty. He moved through the crowd to see the cock slut on his knees, his back turned to Chris. His head bobbed in controlled movements while both of his hands were occupied. The man on the left, impatient for his turn, curled his hand behind the cock slut’s neck and pulled him off the man he was sucking to guide the cock slut to his own cock.

Chris looked at the man on his knees – broad expanse of shoulders, thick neck, narrow waist, plump ass under his black jeans, meaty thighs – from the back, the cock slut fit the physical criteria of what Chris was looking for tonight. He stepped towards the group and took his place, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding down the zipper, fisting his cock slowly with his hand as he watched, waiting for his turn.

The men came on the cock slut’s face, smearing their come on his cheeks. The cock slut chuckled throatily, leaning his head back.

Chris  _recognized_  the cock slut’s laugh; he’d heard it echoing down the hallway, in the lounge, and directed at Chris’s expense. His hand tightened on his cock, feeling a surge of something hot and delicious forming in the pit of his belly. A low twisting and turning of want and…something darker, something a little too close to payback for every time Peter rejected him.

Peter Hale was the cock slut on duty.

“All right, boys, you next three,” Peter said, teasingly, waving the next three towards him. He picked up a small package of wet wipes and cleaned his face and neck. “And remember the rules – don’t pull my hair and don’t even think about coming in my mouth.”

There was friendly banter, but Chris knew that they’d all follow Peter’s rules. You didn’t piss off the cock slut on duty if you wanted your cock wet.

He watched as Peter took the first cock into his mouth, eyes closing as he let out a soft moan. It was short but thick, stretching the corners of Peter’s mouth as he allowed the man to fuck it open, a slow slide, like the man was savoring it.      

It was obvious that Peter savored it; his right hand dropping between his thighs to caress the head of his cock, tugging the tight foreskin over the head and then back down.

_“Yeah, stroke that pretty cock, boy.”_

_“Suck him good.”_

_“Fuck his mouth.”_

Chris tuned out the voices of the men getting sucked and stroked, keeping his gaze on Peter’s face, his wide mouth stretched around the different cocks, how much he seemed to enjoy being on his knees.

 _“Jesus, oh fuck me, yes,”_  the man moaned, his fingers carding gently through Peter’s hair.

Peter pulled off and laughed, looking up at the man as he moved on to the next cock, licking the tip and wrapping his lips around the head, sliding down half way and pulling back, then going all the way down so his nose was pressed against the man’s belly.

 _“Baby, let me take you home,”_  the second man said, shakily.

Chris swallowed hard, wondering if Peter would pick someone and leave with them later.

_“Give you whatever the fuck you wanted.”_

There was no doubt that people were willing to offer Peter anything he wanted; and the smug look on Peter’s face as he pulled off the second man’s cock said it all.

Peter finished them off, stroking each man off individually; his head was tilted back and his eyes narrowed seductively as he cajoled them to come on him.

He cleaned himself off with another wet wipe and sat back on his heels, stretching out the muscles in his neck. He picked up a water bottle and took a deep drink, head back, throat stretched long as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing obscenely – all designed to putting on a fucking show. He finished his water and smiled, checking out his audience, and then looked up at the men next in line, his eyes meeting Chris’s steady gaze.

“Oh,” Peter murmured, blinking slowly as the smile dripped off his face. “This is a surprise.” He ran his hand over his mouth and down his chin, blue eyes sharp as he stared up at Chris, a little sneer twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Wait your turn, Mr. Argent.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded and stepped aside, leaning against the nearby wall.

“Well, boys, this was fun, but it’s last call,” Peter said, chuckling as the remaining men murmured their disappointment. Chris watched them carefully as they walked away, just in case any of them intended to show their disappointment in Peter’s decision in a more physical manner. But none of them pressed the issue; a few men leaned close to Peter, whispering something in his ear, causing Peter to grin, a slow shake of his head.

He watched as Peter picked up the pack of wet wipes and his dark tee-shirt from the floor, getting to his feet. The younger man sauntered towards Chris, his face hidden in the darkness. He stood close, just an inch or two between them, and Chris could still smell the tang of come lingering on Peter’s skin. He smelled used and dirty.

Wordlessly, Peter dropped his shirt and the wet wipes on the floor and slowly got to his knees, hands gripping Chris’s hips and tugging down his jeans to his knees. He met Chris’s eyes and licked his lips; there was nothing salacious in that brief movement, but anticipation churned in Chris’s belly, knowing that he was going to feel that clever tongue on his cock.

Two months of Peter telling Chris to basically ‘fuck off’ and this night, he’d get Peter Hale to suck his cock. He knew the rules: a man walked into a club like this and his name and his money meant nothing; this was about sex and getting off, it wasn’t about getting to know someone. It wasn’t even about getting someone’s name. And if these men should meet out in the world, outside the back room, no one acknowledged it. If this was a one-time thing, Chris wasn’t going to pass it up.

Chris reached down and cupped the side of Peter’s face, thumb brushing over the neatly trimmed goatee. He inhaled sharply when Peter turned his head, sucking Chris’s thumb into his wet mouth, tongue tracing along the pad of his thumb as blue eyes looked up at him.

He stroked Peter’s tongue gently, but pulled his thumb out of his mouth, wanting to bury his cock inside Peter’s hot mouth. He grabbed the side of Peter’s head with both hands and tugged him closer, biting back a moan when Peter didn’t hesitate, lips wrapped around the head and sucking him in deep.

“Jesus,” he muttered, inhaling sharply as Peter didn’t bother with any preliminaries and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him in even deeper. He choked on his breath when he felt his cock slip along the flat of his tongue, felt a little click, the head fitting neatly in the back of Peter’s throat. “Fuck…”

Peter swallowed around him and Chris felt his legs tremble. He locked his knees, hands going to Peter’s strong shoulders, gripping him tight. He was nearly bent over the man, thrusting sharp, controlled movements in and out of the tunnel of his throat, the muscles squeezing around his head.

Roughly, Peter pushed him back against the wall, holding him there as he pulled off to catch his breath. Chris curled his hand behind Peter’s neck, caressing him gently, apologetically, letting Peter set the pace. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasure of feeling Peter’s mouth moving along his cock, tongue slipping under and around the head, flicking across the slit and pulling a moan from deep within Chris’s chest.

He looked up and watched Chris; enjoying the way that Chris was panting loudly now, the way Chris couldn’t hold back the sounds of pleasure and need falling from his mouth. Peter dragged his lips along the shaft and sucked on just the head and Chris trembled, grabbing fistfuls of Peter’s soft hair.

Peter let out a sound of displeasure and pulled off of Chris’s cock entirely, staring up at him. “Let go of my hair, Mr. Argent.”

“Fuck, don’t call me that,” he said, smoothing his fingers against Peter’s scalp and removing his hands. His gripped them into fists and pressed them on his thighs. “Peter—“

“You touch me with your hands again and I’ll stop.”

He nodded, looking down at the younger man. “Please.”

“That’s more like it,” Peter said, sneering up at him.

“Peter—“

“Shut up,” he hissed, curling his hand around Chris’s cock and squeezing hard just under the head. Chris groaned, falling back against the wall. “Just shut up and take whatever I give you, Mr. Argent.”

Chris closed his eyes and sank into the feeling of Peter’s warm mouth covering him again, sucking him leisurely, teasing him with pleasure on his terms. He breathed out and pressed his palms against the wall, looking down to see Peter watching him, lips stretched around him. Chris shuddered at the feel of his bottom lip dragging along the head.

Peter smirked and sank down to the root, choking slightly. He pulled back to take a breath and then moved slower down Chris’s length, the flat of his tongue sliding like a snake along his hard flesh. When he had enough making Chris pant and moan, he pulled back and then spit into the palm of his hand, wrapping it around Chris’s cock and stroked him with long, sure pulls, popping just the head back into his mouth, the suction so tight that it flickered somewhere between pain and pleasure.

It wouldn’t take much longer; Chris could feel his balls tightening, that he’d have a long, hard come from this.

“Peter, gonna come,” he warned, breathlessly.

But Peter wasn’t going to pull off; and Chris grunted thickly when he felt Peter’s tongue brush against the slit, tasting him, sucking the come right out of him.

“Fuck…yes, please, don’t stop,” Chris whispered, panting noisily.

Peter stared up at him as Chris filled his mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily as he came, trying to push more of his cock into Peter’s mouth, wanting to go deeper.

Gently, he licked Chris clean and then pressed his forehead against Chris’s hip, breathing harshly. Chris knew the rules were still in place, but he wasn’t going to just let it end like this. He leaned down and grabbed Peter under his arms and pulled him to his feet, turning so that Peter was against the wall now. He reached between them and could feel Peter’s cock hard and hot and leaking, curling his hand around him and jerking him off with quick strokes, thumbing the head to hear Peter moan.

He leaned towards Peter to kiss that smart mouth, but Peter turned away, eyes narrowing and daring him to try it again. Chris grabbed Peter’s wrists and pinned them over his head, holding both of his wrists in one hand, reaching for Peter’s cock with the other to finish him off.

Peter stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth parted slightly. Chris figured that if Peter didn’t like it, he could easily break out of Chris’s hold, but there was something almost  _shy_  in Peter’s expression, something that Chris should pay attention to…it was just on the edge of his mind, but he’d deal with it later. Right now, he wanted Peter to come and to come at his touch.

“Hard all night sucking cock,” he whispered against Peter’s ear. “I’m going to get you off, baby, and I’m not even going to make you beg for it.”

 _Not this time_ , he didn’t add.

The younger man moaned, arching his neck, pushing his chest against Chris. He could feel Peter trembling against him, soft whimpers breaking from his throat, and he tightened his hold and quickened his strokes, wanting to see Peter come for him.

Despite his diva-like personality, Peter was quiet when he came. Or maybe he didn’t want to give away anything to Chris. He couldn’t stop staring at the flush on his skin, the way that Peter gritted his teeth, the way that Peter wouldn’t meet Chris’s eyes.

“Fuck,” Peter hissed, shivering through the aftershocks, pushing Chris away. He glared at him for a long moment, both of them breathing heavily, before Peter broke eye contact and pulled his jeans together, tucking his still hard cock inside. He picked up his shirt and tugged it on forcefully; Chris heard the sound of seams ripping apart in Peter’s haste to get dressed. To escape.

“Peter—“

“Fuck you.” Peter said, finally meeting his eyes. There was something quite stunning about Peter in this state – desperate and furious and dazed with sated pleasure – and Chris wanted to see that look on Peter’s face again.

He watched as the younger man stalked through the crowd, back tense and his usual calm composure completely gone. Chris took a deep breath and fell back against the wall, wondering what the hell just happened.

Whatever it was, he knew that it was a game changer.

***

It was three days before Chris saw Peter again.

He was sitting at a table in the faculty lounge, halfway through Thomas Pynchon’s “Gravity’s Rainbow,” his free hand curled around the base of a Starbucks coffee cup. His head was bent in solemnness, the fingers of his other hand tracing along the line of words on the page.

“Did you know that Pynchon worked as a technical writer for Boeing while he was writing ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’?”

Peter looked up at him, frowning slightly. “Surely anyone who reads his Wikipedia page can find that information easily.” His fingers tapped on the page. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Argent?”

“How about if you call me Chris?”

“I’d rather not have that kind of informality between us.”

Because sucking Chris’s cock in a back room wasn’t enough to create informality between them? _Fucking hell._

Chris gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “All right. Have a good day, Mr. Hale.”

Peter snapped the book closed and glared at him. “What do you want from me?”

He opened his mouth and then stopped…what  _did_ he want from Peter?

Did he want more of what he got from Peter in the back room? Chris liked sex; he liked it more even without any strings attached. And he could get it a whole lot easier than getting it from Peter Hale.

Did he want to be friends? They didn’t have much else in common besides teaching. But then again, Chris hadn’t bothered to find out.

“I see,” Peter said, smiling haughtily at him. He stood up, tucking the book under his arm and picking up his Starbucks cup. “So it’s like that.”

“Like what?”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “Good enough for a dirty blowjob, but not quite good enough to actually speak to.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been trying to talk to you ever since I started working here.”

“Only because you put your stupid foot in your mouth and discovered just how quickly gossip moved through the campus grapevine. The esteemed Christopher Argent deigning to take a break from the lofty heights of architectural success to teach at the smallest campus in the UC system? It doesn’t make any sense why you’re here; so of course there’s only one reason,” he said, amused. “Tell me, Mr. Argent, how do you like slumming it with the rest of us mere mortals?”

Chris frowned. “That’s a god awful thing to say, Hale. I’m not slumming it.”

Peter took a deep breath and looked away, shaking his head. “Look, I’ll call off the gossiping doyenne and you and I can fake our cordiality—“

“Why does it have to be fake?”

That seemed to catch Peter off guard and Chris watched as a look of confusion interplayed with frustration on the handsome man’s face.

“Look, I admit that we started off on the wrong foot, but I want to make amends and try again,” he said, meeting Peter’s gaze. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for insulting your work. I had no right to criticize something I hadn’t even seen.”

“Thank you. Apology accepted,” Peter said, softly. They stared at each other, the uncertain silence between them stretching into awkward. “Well, if you’ll excuse me—“

“Have dinner with me tonight – and if you really don’t want to have anything to do with me, I’ll stop asking and I’ll stop bothering you.”

Peter licked his bottom lip and Chris suppressed a shiver; he knew what that tongue felt like. “There’s a diner on Riverside Drive, it’s called Edna’s. They serve the best steak and eggs on the west coast. At seven.”

“Where should I pick you up?”

Peter chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Just meet me there, Argent.”

Chris grinned. “All right. See you tonight.”

Peter nodded, ducking around him. Chris turned to watch him go, his eyes trailing down the wide back under his jacket, to the way that his dress pants clung to his ass.

“Oh, by the way…” Peter trailed off, catching Chris staring at his ass. He smirked and raised his eyebrow but Chris didn’t feel embarrassed over it. “By the way, the Beacon Hills Theatre is hosting a special showing of ‘Alpha Bondage’ tonight. We should go see it, so you can give me your critical feedback of my work.”

Chris swallowed, dryly. “Yeah, sure.”

Peter rolled his eyes and then leered at Chris. “See you tonight.  _Christopher_.”


End file.
